


First Impressions

by Mistress_of_Squirrels



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 20:51:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11365401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Squirrels/pseuds/Mistress_of_Squirrels
Summary: Still struggling to make sense of the world she's found herself in, Ying slowly comes to realize that things aren't always what they seem.





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This was a wip that's been sitting on my hard drive for almost a year. It takes place right before Kindred and mostly just fills in the gap on how Ying got to Goodneighbor and her time there.

Lightning forked across the sky, limning the dark clouds in brilliant blue. A low rumble of thunder followed seconds later. The dog at her side raised his head to sniff the air and Ying glared upward, hissing a curse as the first drop of rain hit right in the middle of her forehead. Night was approaching, as rapidly as the storm, and it looked like they were going to be caught out in the open for both.

 

She placed a hand on Dogmeat’s scruff and cautiously peered around a crumbling wall, dark eyes searching what remained of the street for anything that might help her get her bearings. Mattie had told her how to get to Goodneighbor, but trying to find her way through the ruins of downtown with so many of the landmarks missing or altered beyond recognition was difficult. The failing light was only making it worse.

 

Twice, when he’d still been with her, Ying had tried to turn back, determined to show that asshole McDonough that he couldn’t get away with this. Twice, Mattie had stopped her.

 

“You can’t fight the whole city,” he’d admonished, thin shoulders hunched beneath the bulk of his grimy jacket.

 

“Fucking watch me,” had been her sharp response.

 

She’d never seen anyone like Mattie before, and, sure, he’d looked a little fucked up, with his scarred skin, missing nose, and filmy eyes, but no one had even been able to _see_ his face until the fucking idiots in security got rough and yanked his scarf away. All hell broke loose after that, and amidst jeers and threats of violence, Ying hadn’t been able to keep quiet. The mayor got involved, and telling that walking waste of oxygen to go fuck himself had been extremely satisfying, even if it had resulted in her and Mattie being chased out of the city. Not her best idea, maybe, but _so_ worth it at the time.

 

Mattie had looked at her like she was insane as the city’s heavy gates screeched closed behind them. She might have taken offense, had she not still remained convinced that this was all a very long, very vivid dream.

 

She’d seen horned monsters rise up from collapsed sewers while gangs and green giants armed with rusted pipes and homemade guns prowled the dilapidated streets. Corpses shambled to their feet to attack anything that moved, and she’d helped make her gilded prison a sanctuary in more than just name. The land was torn and barren, the sky was muted and dull. Nothing seemed real - not even the child that had been stolen from his dead father’s arms - and now she’d just been exiled from the only place that held any answers.

 

Ying swept a hand down her front, one of the many little checks she’d developed over the years to remind herself that yes, she was still there. and yes, this was all actually happening. Her eyes caught on the stained fabric of her shirt and she rubbed a stiff patch between her finger and thumb. It might not seem real, but it wasn’t a dream. If it had been, she would have woke when Mattie died right in front her.

 

 

They’d been caught unprepared by a patrol of mercenaries. Gunners, Mattie called them, armed, armored, and demanding what little they had in the way of supplies. Ying had stubbornly refused, and it went about as well as expected. Once again they were running, this time for their lives.

 

She was shorter than Mattie, but also faster. Instinct demanded she keep going and save herself, but when she looked back over her shoulder, it wasn’t his face that flashed in her mind and urged her to slow down so he could keep up.

 

He’d been hit. Ying wasn’t a doctor, but she didn’t need a medical degree to know that the wet sucking sound that whistled in his lungs with every breath was a bad sign. Stims might have saved him, but those fucking bastards in Diamond City hadn’t let him buy any. All she could do was watch helplessly as blood bubbled around the corners of his mouth and every pull of his bony chest grew more labored than the last.

 

She’d stayed until the shallow rise and fall finally stilled, because no one deserved to die alone in a filthy alley.

 

She’d stayed because once, she hadn’t.

 

It started to rain in earnest, heavy drops as warm as tears, and the german shepard beside her let out a low whine that snapped her from her memories. Ying’s features hardened and she let her hand fall to her side, clucking her tongue at the dog in a quiet signal to follow.

 

Mattie was gone, and she wasn’t long behind him if she didn’t get her ass moving instead of reminiscing like a fool out in the open.

 

Navigating the debris-choked streets was dangerous under the best conditions; it was downright deadly with rainwater slicking the rutted pavement and soaking the heaps of trash underfoot. Still, Ying couldn’t complain overmuch. Intermittent rolls of thunder and the steady patter of rain covered the sound of her footsteps, allowing her to sneak by camps of raiders and giants.

 

She’d been worried about her canine companion drawing unwanted attention, but soon discovered that Dogmeat was more intelligent than any dog ought to be. It was downright eerie at times, but at least she didn’t have to worry about him darting off at the wrong moment and getting them both killed.  As long as she kept her head down so a random streak of lightning wouldn’t give her away, it wasn’t too difficult for them to travel through the remains of downtown unnoticed.

 

By the time Ying found what she was looking for, the worst of the rain had passed.There were no guards outside Goodneighbor, just the cheerful glow of a neon sign to greet newcomers. Only a few people looked her way when she pushed through the gates, and it wasn’t long before they lost interest and returned to what they were doing. One man didn’t turn away, and Ying paid special attention to him. He had the look of a cat that just spotted a mouse. Dripping and disheveled as she was,  she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

 

Ying looked directly into his eyes as she tried to walk past. He sidestepped and blocked her path, smirking down at her. Her mouth twisted in disgust as she arched a brow at him. Now was really not the time. She had no money or supplies, and really couldn’t afford to be thrown out of another town, but if this asshole pushed his luck, she was more than willing to show him what everyone else had learned the hard way: Ying didn’t squeak and scamper away. Fuck with her, and she _roared_.

 

“First time in Goodneighbor?” he asked with a toothy grin. “You look like you might be in the market for a little _insurance_.”

 

“No thanks,” Ying said flatly. “Unless you have any ‘keep dumb assholes away from me’ insurance, I’m really not interested.”

 

“Hey, now,” the bastard chided. “Don’t be like that. I think you’re really gonna like what I have to offer.”

 

Fast exceeding her tolerance for bullshit, Ying tried once more to walk around him. He reached out to grab her arm, and she went still, teeth clenched so tightly she could hear them creak. Dogmeat growled a low warning deep in his throat and she cast a pointed look to where the man’s fingers were wrapped just above her elbow.

 

 _Fuck good behavior. This asshole’s just_ asking _for a knife in the gut._

 

“Don’t walk away from me,” he hissed, eyes narrowing. “Here’s how it’s gonna go: you’re gonna hand over everything in them pockets, or accidents are gonna happen. Big, _bloody_ accidents.”

 

She’d seen two men shot right in front of her and still hadn’t learned a damn thing about this new world. Probably because she didn’t _care_. For all that had changed, people really hadn’t, and that bit of familiarity was almost comforting. She knew how to deal with assholes, and this time, there was no one there to talk her out of it.

 

“Let. Go.”

 

Ying gave him exactly three seconds to comply before she twisted out of his grip. She drew her free arm back and swung all of her weight forward in a punch to his stomach. His eyes bulged as the breath left his lungs and he doubled over with a gasp. Not one to waste such a perfect opportunity, her fist shot out again, this time smashing into his nose. Confident that she’d won the advantage, Ying drew a knife from her belt and calmly laid the blade against the fluttering pulse in the side of his throat.

 

“Everything in my pockets,” she echoed, angling her wrist until the blade bit a thin red line across his neck. The man had to lift his chin to keep the knife from cutting any deeper and Ying curled her lips back into a nasty grin. “Where do you want it?”

 

He never answered. To her annoyance, he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. She stiffened at a low, rasping chuckle, and took a wary step back, but refused to lower her knife. Someone else was walking toward them, and she didn’t like having to split her attention, especially when the man she’d already subdued straightened and shot her a murderous look as he spat blood at her feet.

 

One, she could have handled. Two...maybe.

 

_Maybe not._

 

When the newcomer stepped into the ring of light cast by a nearby streetlamp, Ying saw that he had the same gnarled countenance as Mattie, and beneath the ridiculous revolutionary outfit he wore, he was just as thin.

 

As her eyes roamed over him, she took note of anything that might be an advantage if this turned ugly. No body fat meant nothing to soften a blow, and vulnerable points were even more unprotected. Large joints, soft organs, the bony protrusions of his ribs - if he was looking for a fight, she’d use whatever she could.

 

“Looks like not everyone’s willing to stand for extortion, Finn.” The ghoul glanced down at the knife Ying still grasped and his withered lips parted in a lazy grin as keen eyes black as pitch flicked to her face. It was only a moment, but long enough to leave her with the feeling that he’d taken her measure then and there.

 

His gaze narrowed on Finn and the humor drained from his expression. “Thought I told you to lay off that shit.”

 

“What do you care?” Finn sneered, still glaring at her. “She ain’t one of us.”

 

There was a subtle threat in his tone that told Ying she never would be if he had his way, and she silently cursed the other man for his interference. Even someone as stupid as Finn wasn’t going to be caught unaware a second time. She should have just slit the bastard’s throat while she had the chance, but she was sick of people like him. That little moment of horror where it all sank in and he _knew_ he was fucked had been too good to rush.

 

The corners of the ghoul’s mouth lifted again, but the gleam of his eyes turned cold.  “I don’t think you’re hearin’ me, and I’m tired of fuckin’ repeating myself. Leave her alone, and quit with the shakedowns.”

 

“You’re soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, might be there’s a new mayor before too long.”

 

Ying’s lips twitched when she heard the mayor’s name, but she was too caught up in watching the argument play out to pay it much mind. She’d heard enough about Goodneighbor to know it didn’t have the best reputation, but context was crucial. This little exchange would show her more than any amount of gossip could.

 

The mayor’s smile widened and he spread his arms like he was welcoming an old friend. She was expecting the glint of steel when he reached beneath his long frock coat, but if Finn noticed the danger he was in, the realization came too late. Twice the blade flashed - the mayor was quick, she noted - and then Finn sank to his knees, his face twisted into a rictus of shocked pain.

 

“You alright?” Hancock asked, calmly cleaning his knife.

 

Ying blinked, caught off guard. She’d anticipated questions, but not about her welfare. She nodded, and narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t need a rescue.”

 

Finn was dead because of his own stupidity, and because Hancock wouldn’t and probably _couldn’t_ let an open challenge to his authority - in front of an outsider, no less - go unanswered. It was politics, not a favor, and she wasn’t going to let him try to claim a debt that wasn’t owed.

 

“I noticed,” Hancock acknowledged with a dip of his head. “But sometimes a mayor’s gotta make a point.”

 

One side of her mouth quirked as she glanced down at Finn. “I think he got it,” she said, voice flat. She’d been ready to make a point of her own, and it still irritated her that he’d strolled in and put on airs like she was some fucking damsel.

 

“About time”, Hancock muttered. “But hey,” he added brightly. “Don’t let this incident taint your view of our little community. Everyone’s welcome in Goodneighbor.”

 

“Until they step out of line.”

 

Blunt, but intentionally so. ‘Everyone’s welcome’ was an odd sentiment coming from a man that had just murdered another right in the center of town. Finn had it coming, of course, and if Hancock hadn’t, she certainly would have, but it gave her pause. Most people would have chosen a less _public_ solution. He had the clout to stab a man in the street with no complaints, but was it fear or loyalty that kept people quiet?

 

Those strange eyes were inscrutable as Hancock shook his head, but the pinch of his mouth indicated she might have offended him. “It ain’t like that. Goodneighbor’s about livin’ free -- as long as you aren’t makin’ trouble for anyone else. You feel me?”

 

 _As long as no one made trouble for_ him _._

 

“Yeah…” Ying drawled, dragging the word beyond its single syllable as her eyes swept over the square.

 

They were drawing quite the crowd, but she was still able to pick out several men dressed in identical suits. They hung back, trying to appear casual, but the bulge of weapons was obvious beneath their jackets. A few, she noticed, didn’t even bother to hide them.

 

 _Well_.

 

At least she probably didn’t have to worry about getting thrown out. Fuck up here, and she’d never even make it back to the gates.

 

Meeting Hancock’s fathomless gaze, she flashed a sardonic grin and tipped her head in a curt nod. Ying was a lot of things, but she wasn’t stupid.

 

“I feel you.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I could have dealt with Finn, you know.”

 

Hancock looked over from where he was sprawled on one of the musty couches and nodded once. “Yeah,” he agreed, propping one booted foot on the coffee table. The motion sent a couple empty jet canisters to the floor, but he ignored them, focusing his attention on the scowling face of his bodyguard instead. “But it’s better this way. They need to know I’m still one of ‘em. That I can still get my hands dirty.”

  
The reminder came too late for Finn, but he was proof a point needed to be made. He hadn’t planned on actually killing him.  Much as he ran his mouth, Finn was damn useful in a fight, but letting him get away with an open threat sent the wrong message. Besides, he’d warned him about that shit with the newcomers. Wasn’t his fault the guy couldn’t get that through his thick fuckin’ skull.

 

Fahrenheit looked unconvinced. “I guess showing off for the new girl had nothing to do with it?”

 

Hancock just shrugged and fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He lit one and tossed the empty cellophane on the coffee table before replying, “Not really.”

 

The redhead snorted, but didn’t add anything further, allowing Hancock to finish his smoke in pensive silence. Fahr might have missed the mark a bit, but as usual, she hadn’t been completely wrong, either. He’d meant to make an impression, just not in the way she thought.

 

If showing off was all he’d been after, he could have easily found a more receptive audience, but it was true he probably hadn’t needed to intervene. That wasn’t the point. Goodneighbor was different now - _he_ was different - and assholes like Finn were a big step back in the wrong direction.

 

Too bad the little drifter hadn’t seen it that way.

 

He’d had his share of nasty looks over the years and he tried not to make it personal - start losing your skin and people tend to get jumpy. But no one had ever really looked at him quite the way she had, wary and defiant and _knowing_ , like she already had him figured out and she’d seen it all before.

 

Hell, maybe she had. The scars that slashed and twisted  across her face weren’t the kind made by accident. No, someone had done that to her, someone like _Vic_ , and Hancock had a feeling she’d judged him the same with nothing but that look.

 

The comparison stung, especially when he’d been wondering about that very thing. Being in charge was supposed to be about giving back and keeping folks safe from the Vics in the world. Seemed like recently, all that took a backseat to just _staying_ in charge.

 

Stubbing out the last of his cigarette, Hancock tipped his head back and tried to think of where everything started to go wrong.

 

The crumbling plaster of the ceiling had no answers.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The discovery that Sammy had been taken and replaced with a synth rocked Goodneighbor like a tidal wave. Hancock didn’t need to hear the whispers to know that fear and suspicion gathered like a cloud over the little town. A storm was brewing, and it wouldn’t be long before people started turning on one another like those idiots in Diamond City. Maybe that was all part of the Institute’s plan, or maybe it was just an added benefit. Either way, Hancock wasn’t going to let it happen. Not here.

 

Speeches were the easiest way to get his point across, and it didn’t hurt that he was good at making them. That hadn’t always been the case, but these people were undeniably _his_ . They’d fought and bled together to make Goodneighbor what it was, and it didn’t take much to get them behind his message of sticking together against the _real_ enemy.

 

As Hancock looked out over the assembled crowd, he was surprised to find the drifter among them. He’d expected her to take off the first chance she got, but there she was, shoulders cradled by the nook between two buildings, her arms crossed against her chest. At first glance, she seemed entirely at ease, but the wall at her back and the furtive dart of her eyes gave her away. Hancock was willing to bet that even the casual cock of her hip was a deliberate attempt to emphasize the knife strapped to it.

 

Smart. She didn’t have the height or bulk to pull off intimidation, but a blade like that would make most people think twice before picking a fight - no matter how scrawny the one wearing it was.

 

Their eyes met, and he didn’t try to hold back his grin at the stubborn tilt of her chin or the bold arch of her brow. It took a certain type of person to make it in Goodneighbor. Some folks never did get the hang of things, but right then, she looked like she was born to be here. Still had a lot to learn, but maybe she’d stick around after all.

 

He found himself hoping she did. There was something about her, something he couldn’t quite put into words. She pushed boundaries, but Hancock sensed there was more to her than empty rebellion. While It was easy to talk about ideals, she seemed like the type that would fight for them. He had no way of knowing what those ideals might be - not yet - but he wanted to find out.

 

Hancock was the first to look away. There were people that wanted his attention and she clearly wasn’t one of them, though he was certain she would have held her silent challenge for as long as he was willing to meet it.

 

He never saw her slip away, but the next time he glanced toward her corner, she was gone.

 

Hancock tried to keep an eye out for her over the next couple of days, but it was like chasing smoke. The little drifter seemed to have a knack for disappearing acts, and he had too much on his mind to waste time looking for someone that didn’t want to be found.

 

Word was, Bobbi No-Nose was scheming again. Nothing new there, but whatever the ghoul was up to was enough to get folks talking. She was hiring for some kind of dig, and wasn’t too picky about who she let on. Fahr was convinced whatever she was cooking up was directed at _him_ , but he wasn’t so sure. She was usually right about that sort of thing, but they had history, him and Bobbi. Not as much as he had with some people, and not all of it good, but enough that he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

 

For now.

 

In better news, Whitechapel Charlie claimed he’d found a taker for the warehouse job. Hancock didn’t know who - that defeated the point of going through Charlie - but it meant a solution to a rather tricky situation he was more than ready to be done with.

 

Now, if Charlie’s guy would just hurry up with it. Nothing wrong with going into a job prepared, but they’d had two days to figure it out, and Hancock was starting to get impatient. Bad enough that he had to rely on outside help for a job he would have handled himself only a few years ago, but it was especially frustrating to not have any say in _when_ it was done, either.

 

That night brought the sound of gunfire from the old warehouses, mingled with muffled shouts and curses. Hancock frowned as a sharp blast echoed through the alley, a bright flash flickering against the dark and grimy glass of a window before it shattered. Charlie probably should have emphasized the need for discretion, but the Neighborhood Watch knew to look the other way, and no one else would bother to investigate.

 

Not how he would have handled things, but at least the job was finally getting done.

 

Hancock made his way to the Third Rail to wait. With Mags crooning on stage and the place packed to the brim, he could honestly say he didn’t hear anything from outside, but deniability wasn’t his only motive for being there. Charlie’s ‘exterminator’ ought to be coming around to collect their pay soon; Hancock couldn’t meet them directly, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious to see who’d taken the job.

 

An hour went by, and then another, while Hancock kept a careful eye on the bar. Patrons came and went, returning to their tables with another drink and lighter pockets. He had his own share of visitors in between, drifters hoping for free chems and booze, or maybe just the ability to say they had the ear of the mayor. Didn’t matter what they were after; he knew how the game went and most of the time, he even enjoyed it. He played his part that night, too. If anyone noticed his heart wasn’t in it, they didn’t say anything.

 

By the end of the third hour, Hancock was done pretending to have a good time. Whoever the mystery merc was, they hadn’t showed, and the pressure building in his temples promised one hell of a headache if he didn’t get some sleep. He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, and the woman next to him, a buxom blond with lips stained the color of fresh blood, leaned over until she was practically in his lap.

 

 _Cindy_ , Hancock recalled absently.  _She said her name was Cindy._

 

He’d stake his entire stash of jet it wasn’t her real name, but then, not many around here used those.

 

“Leaving already?” she pouted.

 

“‘Fraid so,” Hancock grinned. “Mayoral duties and all that.”

 

Her fingernails, painted to match her lips, scratched lightly over his chest as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Want some company?”

 

“Some other time,” the ghoul smirked, running a finger down her cheek.”But I’ll be keepin’ you in mind, Cindy.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Hancock gently disentangled himself from the blond and strode to the bar, leaning against the counter while he waited for Charlie to finish up with a customer.

 

“Mayor Hancock,” the bot greeted, gliding over to meet him. “What can I get you?”

 

“Think I’m gonna call it a night, Charlie.” In a lower voice, the ghoul added, “How’s our little _problem_ comin’ along?”

 

“Job’s done,” Charlie said, one arm cleaning a glass while another wiped a rag over the counter. If it could have, Hancock thought the third would have shrugged. “Haven’t heard anything more. Might be they went and got themselves killed.”

 

Hancock frowned at that. It was possible, and he had to admit, it would wrap the whole mess up nice and neat, but nothing was ever that clean. Privately, he thought it was just as likely they were out collecting dirt to try and wrangle a better price.

 

Holding back a sigh, the mayor nodded. “Let me know what you hear.”

 

“Will do.”

 

Tossing a wave over his shoulder at a few drunken well-wishers, Hancock headed up the stairs, nodding a farewell at Ham as he left the Rail. It was a balmy night, but the air was cool compared to the stuffy bar and helped clear his head. He’d been out long enough that Fahr would probably come looking for him soon, but he had time for a smoke before all that, and it was nice to have a few minutes to himself.

 

The ghoul propped a foot against the brick behind him, leaning back as he patted his pockets for his cigarettes. Placing one between his lips, he lit it, taking a deep drag as he looked around. Not much going on this time of night, but it never hurt to be cautious.

 

From where he stood, he had a clear view of the east wall and the flimsy shelters that sat along it. They’d been mostly abandoned since he’d opened the attic of the Old Statehouse to drifters, but he left them standing, just in case.

 

For the small figure crouched in the shadow of one, that was probably a good thing.

 

Thinking it was some kid that didn’t know any better, Hancock tossed his cigarette aside and started forward. No point in sleeping on the streets when there was an empty bed upstairs just waiting. He stopped short when he got close enough to make out a long, dark stripe of hair. Not a kid, but a woman, with more metal in her face than a raider caught in a frag mine. Hancock recognized her instantly; no one else he’d ever seen looked quite like her.

 

The little drifter hadn’t noticed him yet, but that probably had something to do with the hand she had pressed tight against her ribs. Something dark seeped from in between her fingers and the heavy tang of iron grew sharper the closer he got.

 

“Hey, you al--”

 

Startled, the drifter whipped her head around to face him. She was on her feet and reaching for that knife of hers before he knew it.

 

_Christ, she’s jumpy…_

 

“Whoa...calm down,” Hancock soothed, slowly bringing his hands up where she could see them.  “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

 

His fault - he’d spooked her, was all, but not everyone would be so understanding. Shit could get real bad, real quick if she didn’t relax.

 

Several long moments passed as she stared at him, until something shifted behind her eyes and she let the hand hovering over her knife fall. She was still glaring at him like she wanted his guts anywhere but safe inside him, but he’d take it. Progress was progress.

 

He gestured toward where her hand was still clamped against her side. Blood dripped from her curled fingers, slow and steady, to a growing stain on the hem of her too-loose jeans.“Someone give you trouble?”

 

People handled their own affairs in Goodneighbor, but for whatever reason, he’d started making exceptions for her the minute she walked through the gate. What was one more?

 

Her answering smirk told him he needn’t have bothered. “I took care of it.”

 

“Yeah? What happened?”

 

Her syllables were softened by a slight accent he couldn’t place, but there was no mistaking the smugness of her tone. “Corner a rat, and sometimes it bites.”

 

A surprised chuckle escaped him and, as the pieces fell into place, Hancock couldn’t help but tease, “Gotta watch yourself. Rats can be a real problem around here - especially in those old warehouses.”

 

The drifter’s mouth thinned as wariness crept back into her eyes. With a sigh, the ghoul shook his head. “Relax. Who do you think hired you, doll?”

 

The pet name was a slip, but small and wooden as she looked right then, it suited her. Until she narrowed her eyes in another glare.

 

“So I was doing _your_ dirty work.”

 

“Does it really matter? You knew you were doing someone’s,” Hancock pointed out.

 

The drifter just shook her head. “No. I told your bot I’d look into it, and I did. Taking them out was my decision, and it didn’t have shit to do with money. They’re dead because they were thugs.”

 

“Hey, no argument there, sister, and don’t think I don’t appreciate it. The situation was...complicated.”

 

Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes turned probing as she said, “Politics usually are. What made this so different?”

 

He could have brushed her off. He didn’t owe her any explanation, and it shouldn’t matter if she thought he was some kind of tyrant when plenty of people knew otherwise. It shouldn’t, but it did, maybe because he believed what she said about not taking care of the Triggermen for the money. If it was just a job, why hadn’t she collected her pay yet? Two hundred caps wouldn’t go far, but if she was sitting out here, it was probably more than she had. Plenty of folks had done worse for less.

 

“Come inside with me,” Hancock offered and nodded toward her wound. “You can get that cleaned up and I’ll tell you about it.”

 

It was the wrong thing to say, because she immediately pulled back, features tight with suspicion. “Why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why would you help me? Nothing’s free, Hancock. What are you expecting in return?”

 

Scowling, the ghoul shook his head. While he could understand not wanting to be in debt to someone, he didn’t like where this was heading. “You wanna keep score, doll, have at it, but let’s get somethin’ straight: I don’t take what ain’t on offer.”

 

Some of the tension left her shoulders, but the drifter’s face was still closed. “Then why?” She repeated. “What do you want?”

 

“Why? You’re bleedin’ in the street - simple as that. As for what I want, I like to know who’s in my town,” Hancock shrugged. “I don’t know anything about you. Give me a name, and we’ll call it even.”

 

Hopefully it was enough to satisfy her need to keep the scales balanced without pushing her into more than she was willing. Hell, she wasn’t even obligated to tell the truth if she didn’t want to - wasn’t like he asked for _her_ name.

 

Another long silence passed, but eventually the drifter nodded. “It’s Ying-hua,” she said softly. “But people just call me Ying.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The drifter - _Ying_ , Hancock reminded himself - was stretched out on the coffee table while he stitched a two-inch stab wound that probably should have killed her. Had the blade entered just a bit lower, it would have, sliding neatly between her ribs instead of glancing off them and slicing up toward her back.

 

Hancock bit back an automatic apology as he knotted another suture and Ying hissed through her teeth. He’d learned the hard way it was better to just ignore it. She’d stripped out of her shirt without batting an eye, but apologizing for hurting her or asking if she was alright had her flushed and fidgeting, looking like she’d bolt at any second.

 

“You were going to tell me about your rat problem,” Ying prodded in a strained voice.

 

Hancock glanced up long enough to be sure she wasn’t going to pass or out something and then went back to his work with a nod. “Yeah. They call themselves Triggermen; individual gangs, but one big family or some shit, like those Pre-War crime syndicates.”

 

“So they’re the Wasteland Mafia,” Ying snorted. “Of course the fucking mob found a way to survive the end of the world.”

 

Something felt...off about that. Only the oldest ghouls talked about ‘the end of the world’ like everyone had been around to see it. Ying sounded like that too, but bitter instead of nostalgic.

 

She shifted to look over at him, and Hancock realized he’d been staring at her. Dropping his gaze, he shrugged. “Well, some of ‘em might have,” he agreed. “There’s a lot of ghouls in the Triggermen.”

 

Ying sent him a puzzled frown. “What does that have to do with it?”

 

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hancock chuckled, trying to cover his bemusement. “Ghouls live a long time, doll. Ain’t unheard of for some of ‘em to be from before the war.” Hancock tied off the last stitch and held out a hand to help her sit up. He didn’t expect her to actually take it, but she surprised him when she hesitantly wrapped her fingers around his and allowed him to pull her up.

 

“Are you?” she asked, swinging her legs to the side of the table.

 

Flashing a grin, he shook his head, careful to keep his eyes focused on hers. He’d given her a clean t-shirt, but she’d been using it as a pillow instead.

 

“No. Daisy, the gal with the shop? She is, but maybe don’t tell her you heard that from me. There’s another guy over at the Rexford, or so I hear. I don’t think he gets out much.”

 

As Hancock began winding a strip of cloth around her ribs, Ying bit her lip. He thought he might have made it too tight until she raised her finger in a little twirling motion toward her face and asked, “How...how does it happen?”

 

_Like talkin’ to one of them vaulties…_

 

“Radiation. Take too many rads at once or hang out in the wrong place for too long, and you might end up lookin’ like me.”

 

“Might?”

 

“Well, yeah. Most folks just die - or end up feral,” Hancock added with a grimace. “Bad way to go. But if you want specifics, I ain’t really the guy to be askin’. I wasn’t your typical case.”

 

Coming to the end of the bandage, Hancock tucked it under the rest of the wrap and sat back. “All finished, doll.”

 

Ying reached for her shirt, still wadded on the table, and Hancock busied himself with cleaning up while she put it on. She was still sitting on the coffee table when he returned, gazing up at him expectantly.

 

“So what happened?”

 

She didn’t play coy when she wanted to know something. He liked that. The one-sidedness of their conversation hadn’t escaped him, but he was fine with that, too. There were worse ways to spend his time than talking about himself to a pretty girl, and she gave away more about herself than she realized.

 

Taking a seat on the far end of the couch, Hancock lit a cigarette and then offered the pack to Ying, holding back a laugh as she eagerly accepted.

 

“I used to go on these wild tears when I was younger,” he began. “Tried every chem I could get my hands on - didn’t matter what it was. The more exotic, the better, you know? Eventually, I came across this experimental radiation drug. Only one like it in all the world. No way in hell was I passin’ that up.

 

“Yeah, I might be livin’ with the side effects now, but what’s not to love about immortality?”

 

She snorted at that, a grin teasing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re hardly immortal, Hancock. Your rats died like anyone else.”

 

The unspoken implication that he could too, just as easily, hung between them, and Hancock found himself grinning back in spite of it. This was the woman that refused to be cowed by Finn; defiant, proud, and _dangerous_. After finding her outside like he had, wounded and skittish as a rad doe, he’d been afraid she might have lost some of that edge. Nice to see it was still there, keen as ever.

 

“Believe me, doll, when I finally go out, it _ain’t_ gonna be like everyone else. Dyin’s just like any other trip - gotta make the most of it.”

 

Huffing a laugh, Ying shook her head. “You’re insane.”

 

“In the best way, sister.”

 

“So tell me, oh immortal one: side effects notwithstanding, was it worth it?” Despite the heavy sarcasm in her tone, her eyes were genuinely curious.

 

“Best high I’ve ever had.”

 

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. It’s not like you left any to share.”

 

“Can’t have everyone lookin’ this good,” Hancock shrugged. “I’m not sure my ego could handle the competition.”

 

As casual as the words were, he felt anything but as he tried to wrap his head around how the last hour had lead to...whatever this was.

 

Ying had went from ready to pull a knife on him to something relaxed and almost easy. She liked to run her mouth, but that was just teasing. There’s was no real bite to it, and definitely none of the open hostility from earlier. She was _fun_ like this, and seemed to be enjoying his company as much as he was hers.

 

Like she could read his thoughts, Ying glanced toward the door. When she met his eyes again, hers held a hint of apology. “I should go. I’m sure you’ve got shit to do.”

 

Swallowing his disappointment, Hancock nodded. “Comes with the job. Hey, you got a place to stay?”

 

Ying shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

 

“Hang on.”

 

Hancock didn’t wait for her to argue before he got off the couch and started searching through one of his stashes. Counting out two hundred caps, he swept them into a tin, resisting the temptation to add more. It wasn’t likely to go over well, and he’d have a hard time convincing her the only motivation behind it was keeping her from choosing between a roof and something to eat.

 

“For the warehouses,” he said, holding the tin out to her. “There’re beds upstairs if you need one. Nothin’ fancy, but it beats the street.”

 

Ying nodded as she took her pay. “Thanks.” She headed for the door, and then stopped, looking back at him over her shoulder. “I mean it. Thank you, Hancock.”

 

“Anytime, doll.”

 

Hancock watched as the door closed after her and wondered if he’d see her again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sitting in the Third Rail, her drink mostly untouched, Ying toyed with a gold wedding band, watching the light chase the outer curve of the ring as she tilted it back and forth. She doubted the ring was worth much, but she’d have to take what she could get. The money she’d made from clearing out the warehouses was nearly gone, and if her next job was going to be anything like the last, she was in no shape to go looking just yet.

 

Still, it felt wrong to sell it. She hadn’t worn it since Sanctuary, when it became so loose it kept sliding off her finger, but even then, she felt obligated to keep it, a reminder of a man who’d deserved far more than he got - from life or from her.

 

With a sigh, Ying closed her fist around the ring and downed the rest of her drink. It was just a thin circle of metal; she’d never felt any particular attachment to it. Hell, there’d been plenty of times she’d hated the damned thing, so why did the thought of letting it go now feel like throwing away all that was left of him?

 

 _It’s not,_ she silently argued. _Nate’s_ gone _, and if what Mama Murphy said is true…_

 

The old woman had been right about that thing in the sewers and she’d been right about Sanctuary. Ying hadn’t made it far enough into Diamond City to see if Mama Murphy would be right about anything else, but if there was even a chance that Shaun was out there somewhere, she had to try to find him. Starving to death over some stupid sentiment wasn’t doing either of them any favors.

 

Leaving a few caps on the table to pay for her drink, Ying got to her feet and left.

 

*****

 

Daisy looked like she was in the middle of closing when Ying arrived, but the ghoul looked up from her cleaning and waved her over.

 

“Always happy to see a new face,” she smiled. “Though you aren’t quite new anymore, are you? I remember you from the other day. Finn was givin’ you trouble - or tryin’ to,” she added with a toothy grin.

 

“Yeah.” Ying gave an awkward nod and dropped her gaze, uncomfortable at being recognized. “That was me.”

 

“Aw, none of that, now,” Daisy chuckled. “Standin’ up for yourself ain’t anything to be ashamed of. Finn got what was comin’ to him, if you ask me. Ugly business, that. Makes a bad impression. I’m glad you didn’t let him scare you away.

 

“Now, enough of my ramblin’. If the name of the place didn’t give it away, I’m Daisy. What can I do for you, honey?”

 

“I want to sell this,” Ying said, placing the ring between them on the counter.

 

“Well ain’t that pretty,” Daisy remarked, picking the band up for a better look. “Where’d you find something like that?”

 

“It was my wedding ring.”

 

Daisy rolled the ring between her thumb and forefinger as she examined it all the way around. “No tarnish. It’s in good shape - _real_ good.”

 

“It better be,” Ying snorted, rolling her eyes. “Nate paid almost six thousand dollars for the stupid thing.”

 

“If it’s lasted this long, I think he got his money’s worth,” the ghoul chuckled, patting Ying’s hand.  “A June wedding?”

 

“Yeah…” Ying said cautiously, suddenly aware of the shrewd light that had entered the older woman’s clouded eyes. “How...how did you know?”

 

“The date’s engraved on the ring, honey. And if you got married the year it says, the ring ain’t the only one in good shape.”

 

 _Shit. Fucking_ stupid _._

 

“Lots of people get married in June,” Ying hedged. “We liked the date.”

 

“They did,” Daisy agreed. “But summer weddings lost their appeal around the time people quit using the dollar as currency.” The ghoul tilted her head as though she was sizing her up, but her black eyes were kind as she asked softly, “Where’d you come from, honey?”

 

Tapping her fingers against the countertop, Ying bit her lip and looked away. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

Daisy’s hand covered hers once more, gently stilling the anxious beat of her fingers. “Try me.”

 

Ying didn’t want to tell her. It sounded crazy - even to her - and telling someone meant going through it all over again. It made it _real_ , not something just inside her own head, because crazy or not, she’d been there. She’d lived it, and now she was trapped in a world she didn’t belong to, a place and time she’d never fit in.

 

“I - I don’t….”

 

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest Ying could feel the pulse of her blood in her ears, her hands, her throat. In that moment, all she wanted was to get away, but then Daisy was at her side.

 

“Come with me,” Daisy said quietly. “Careful, now, there we go.”

 

The ghoul kept one hand near Ying’s shoulder, hovering but not quite touching, as she guided her inside the shop to a small table with two chairs. Once Ying was seated, Daisy took the opposite chair and linked their hands over the table.

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she said with a gentle squeeze. “But it might help to get some of it out.”

 

Ying was quiet for a long time as she tried to make sense of the clamor inside her head:

 

It wouldn’t help.

 

That life was gone and no amount of talking would bring it back or fix the mess she found herself in.

 

Better to just forget and move on.

 

Who could possibly understand?

 

Except... Hancock had said Daisy was from before the bombs. She’d seen them fall, lived through it the same as her, and then some. She knew how the world was different and still the same, and if anyone could understand the awful confusion that came with that, the dizzying rush of memories that painted everything so stark and _wrong_ , it was her.

 

That was all it took.

 

Before Ying knew it, she was spilling her guts, the entire story pouring out of her. How she’d only signed the stupid form to make the Vault-Tec guy go away, the feeling of her breath freezing in her lungs as she slept against her will, the murder of her husband, the theft of her son, and the man responsible for both peering in at her while she was trapped in her chamber, forced to sleep once more.

 

There were no tears; Ying still couldn’t let herself feel enough to bring them, but she gripped the other woman’s hand like it was her anchor, until she was empty and spent.

 

“There now,” Daisy soothed, when Ying finally fell silent. “Don’t you feel at least a little better?”

 

“Maybe,” Ying said hoarsely.

 

“I knew you looked lost, but I had no idea how much.”

 

“I’m not lost, I just…” Ying searched for the words to explain, but gave up with a sigh. If they existed, she didn’t know them.

 

Daisy laughed, but it was warm instead of mocking. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here. This place draws lost souls in like a beacon. It’s a haven for those of us that don’t have anywhere else. Could be for you too, honey.”

 

“Yeah, well, it hasn’t really worked out too well so far.”

 

“Give it time,” the ghoul advised gently. She turned Ying’s hand over and placed the wedding band into her palm. Curling her fingers over it, she smiled and said, “You keep your ring.”

 

Ying shook her head. “I need the money. It’s all I have to sell.”

 

“And when you’re ready to let it go, we’ll talk,” Daisy promised. “In the meantime, I had somethin’ else in mind.

 

“I could use a little help around the shop. It’s boring work, I know, but I’m willing to pay and it would hold you over till you find your feet. And before you go thinkin’ this is some kind of charity, I’m offerin’ for myself as much as you. It gets lonesome around here sometimes; it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

 

Though she took a few minutes to think it over, Ying knew she’d already decided. It was a perfect solution.

 

 _Too perfect,_ a little voice whispered, but she promptly silenced it. Regular food and a place to sleep were too tempting to pass.

 

“That’d be great. Thanks, Daisy.”

 

 

*****

 

 

For the next two weeks, Ying worked with Daisy at the store. The ghoul had been right; it was boring work, but she enjoyed her time talking with Daisy, and her affection for the other woman grew by the day.

 

When she wasn’t with Daisy, Ying could be found at the Third Rail, though she tried to keep that to a minimum. She didn’t want to repay her generosity by wasting it on chems and booze. As a result, Ying had a decent amount of caps saved up. It wouldn’t be long before she had enough to buy supplies and figure out her next move. As much as she hated to admit it, that day couldn’t come soon enough.

 

Ying would always be grateful to Daisy, but there was only so long she could take puttering around a shop. She wanted - _needed_ \- a challenge. Mental, physical, it didn’t matter as long as she wasn’t staring at the same walls day in and day out.

 

Her increasing restlessness and agitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. Daisy pulled her aside one day in the beginning of the third week and asked Ying if it was time to move on. She’d laughed off Ying’s apologies and actually threatened to fire her if she didn’t go on her own.

 

“I’ve been around a long time,” Daisy said, hugging her. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve seen it all. But you, you’re just gettin’ started. The world’s changed, but it’s not all bad. Get out there and start bein’ a part of it - just come back and visit, alright? You’re welcome anytime.”

 

Ying hugged her back, her chest tight with something fierce and warm. “I’ll come back,” she promised. “I just have to figure some shit out.”

 

It sounded good when she said it, but like most things, saying was easier than doing. Ying found herself in the Third Rail later that night without a clue to what she should do next. Diamond City was the only lead she had on Shaun, and she wasn’t allowed back. She’d considered trying to sneak in, but that still left her with no idea where to go from there since Mama Murphy had been kind enough to be as vague as possible. Something about a ‘bright heart’ was all Ying knew, and she hadn’t seen anything like that in the brief time she was there.

 

Absently picking at the label on her beer, Ying frowned when a shadow fell across her table. It quickly turned to a grin when she looked up.

 

“Hancock.”

 

“Well, look who it is,” the mayor greeted, taking a seat across from her. “I hear someone’s been busy makin’ themselves a part of the community.”

 

Ying laughed and dipped her head in a nod. “Something like that.”

 

“Cheers to that, sister,” Hancock said, raising his glass.

 

Ying brought up her own bottle and grinned. He was making a bigger deal out of it than it was, but Hancock’s enthusiasm was infectious.

 

“So how’s life been treatin’ ya, doll?”

 

“I can’t complain,” Ying shrugged, taking a sip of her beer. “Or at least I shouldn’t. I’ve got the essentials now, so that’s progress, but....”

 

“But having the essentials ain’t the same as actually livin’,” Hancock finished for her.

 

“Yeah,” Ying sighed, propping her chin on her fist. “Daisy’s great and I love talking to her, but I really don’t think I’m cut out for retail. She agreed, so here I am.”

 

Hancock was quiet a moment as he studied her. Then he drained his glass and said, “If you’re looking for work, I got somethin’ I need done.”

 

“Really?” Ying cringed at the hopeful note in her voice and cleared her throat with an embarrassed cough.. “If it doesn’t involve stocking a shelf, I’m your girl.”

 

The ghoul smirked and shook his head. “No shelves. I got some... reconnaissance needs. The way you disappear when you want, it might be just your thing.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

There’s a place up North called the Pickman Gallery. Used to be raider territory up there, but now they’ve all gone quiet. Too quiet, you feel me? There’s two hundred caps in it if you go scout the place out.”

 

“Sounds easy enough,” Ying shrugged, playing with the ring in her lip.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, but the last guy I sent never came back. If you go, watch yourself out there, doll. Whatever’s goin’ on, it ain’t good.”

 

“I’ll take Dogmeat with me. It’ll be fine.”

 

Anything to get out and actually _do_ something.

 

Hancock nodded. “Cool. Be thorough, yeah? I wanna know exactly what the hell is up with that place.”

 

Ying grinned and tipped back the rest of her beer. “Scout out Pickman Gallery. Got it. I’ll head out tomorrow.”

 

 


End file.
